


sick thoughts

by Sorkari



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Emetophilia, Guro, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorkari/pseuds/Sorkari
Summary: Wolf slumped forwards onto his knees. He didn’t have the energy to spit out the blood that had pooled in his mouth, instead allowing it to pour past his lips and drip onto the floor. The faint clatter of teeth amongst the gore rang softly in Genichiro’s ears, the sound far lovelier than the gentle patter of raindrops against the tiled rooftops.He wanted to hear it until Wolf had none left to lose.“There’s better uses for your tongue,” Genichiro told him. Weakly, Wolf glanced back upwards. His face was flushed, his breaths soft and tremulous, his own cock hard and straining against his hakama. “Teeth aren’t a necessity.”
Relationships: Genichiro Ashina/Sekiro | Wolf
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	sick thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> this is incredibly self indulgent. i have no excuse.
> 
> title came from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kbyp0QQM__g)

They were a perfect match, or so Genichiro thought.

They were, in every sense of the word, perfect. Impeccable. A match made in blood, in viscera, in broken bones. 

Genichiro had Wolf’s throat in his hand, squeezing until Wolf spluttered, holding him in place until he stopped trying to claw away. Wolf was alluringly small, weighing practically nothing in Genichiro’s grip, supported only by the fingers that curled around his throat. He looked so stunning, so sublime, doused in blood and caked in gore.

Genichiro wasn’t any better; his breaths rattled and clicked with blood-laden phlegm, pooling in his lungs from the lacerations that crossed jaggedly over his chest. They were Wolf’s doing, of course. He was as beaten and broken as Wolf was. It was a vile give and take that Genichiro welcomed. The next deep breath he took seared his lungs, and he squeezed harder, ripping another wet, guttural noise out of Wolf. It was as lovely as the toll of wind chimes amidst the cool autumn breeze.

“Lovely, loyal mutt.” Somehow, speaking to Wolf was easier when his ribs were cracked and his head was pounding. “Let me.”

Genichiro met Wolf’s gaze - hazy, unfocused, shining faintly of gold, dimming rapidly with each passing second. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking permission for. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, only that he wanted it. Wanted it from Wolf. Wanted it _badly._

Wolf’s hands slipped from his wrist and fell limp at his sides.

Whether in life or death, in the lull of pain and blood loss, Wolf was fragile all the same. Small, delicate, lithe. He was everything that Genichiro wanted. He was everything that Genichiro _needed_. Genichiro allowed his body to crumple to the ground, the thud heavy despite how light he was, how easy it was to crush his throat.

Genichiro watched as the wounds knitted themselves shut, as the bones realigned, as the blood flow finally ceased. He wanted nothing more than to pin Wolf there, limp and broken, and feel the body grow cold under his fingertips. Anticipation boiled in his gut, searing up through his veins and under his skin, setting his bones alight with desire as the scent of sakura filled his nostrils.

Wolf rose anew, but that didn’t matter. Genichiro would put him right back where he belonged. Tear him right back down until he couldn’t anymore.

* * *

In terms of priorities, him and Wolf were polar opposites. That was a given, really, but nothing helped soothe the burn of it. 

Wolf remained long after Genichiro had recovered from their battle, but that was only because Kuro willed it. It was Kuro’s desire to stay while they carved the path to immortal severance, and Isshin’s will that Genichiro’s men stayed neutral along the way. For a while, they didn’t speak, but it never took long for him to seek Wolf out.

In terms of desires, they melded nicely together.

What was more aggravating than Wolf’s insolence was how desperately Genichiro wanted him still. How badly he craved to wrap his hands around Wolf’s throat when he spoke, how terribly he yearned to pin Wolf down by the wrists when he’d flit seamlessly from tree to tree above him. Such an impeccable performance was to be expected, given that this was the infamous son of the great shinobi Owl, but Genichiro couldn’t help but loathe it.

It was no honor. Should be, but it was not. He hated how Wolf’s lithe form made his chest tighten, how the precision of every kunai Wolf threw made his head spin. He especially hated how he was never all that far behind Wolf, and yet somehow simultaneously was never within reach, either.

It was late into one afternoon when his meeting with his generals and advisors had adjourned and their paths diverged towards proper preparation for the upcoming ministry attack. Wolf had been among them, of course, tucked into one corner, no doubt instructed to play nice by his master. It was unclear whether he listened at all; he sat polishing a tanto, as stunningly methodical as he would with any other task, pausing only to inspect it. He gingerly pressed the tip of his finger to its curved edge, caressed it like it was a treasure. 

Genichiro couldn’t help but wonder how lovely Wolf would look with his jugular torn out.

Wolf was typically one of the first to leave. Finding him prowling the castle grounds or flitting between trees was not exceptionally difficult, but getting him to stay in place was. Genichiro wondered what it would take to pin him. A tanto buried between the bones of his wrist, a katana sunken through the stretch of his abdomen.

“Shinobi of the Divine Heir.” 

Wolf halted. When addressed by anyone that wasn’t the Divine Heir, he was disinterested, offering nothing more than the tilt of the head against his shoulder. Listening, absolutely, but not caring. He moved only to step aside and allow the other inhabitants of the room to leave.

The room fell quiet. Footsteps echoed far off in the hallway, leaving them in tense silence, until Wolf said, “Lord Genichiro.”

It was said out of necessity than it was out of genuine respect. Genichiro’s nails dug into his palms. “You are to stay amongst the rooftops until the threat has passed.”

He spoke with a finality that no one would dare argue against. No one but Wolf, of course, because the bastard finally turned to face him and asked, “Is that not what the Nightjar are for?”

He was teasing, prodding, so blatantly obvious, and if it were anyone else, Genichiro would have their head. _Beautiful, insufferable mutt_. He stated plainly, “That was not a request.”

“My question still stands,” Wolf responded. Not entirely flat, not quite a deadpan, and definitely nowhere near the respect that a manservant was made to show. 

In an instant, Wolf was slammed up against the nearest wall, his breath punched right out of his lungs as Genichiro pinned him. It was so tantalizingly easy to wrap a hand around Wolf’s throat, outstretched as he craned his neck upwards to meet Genichiro’s eye. Heat pooled in Genichiro’s gut at the thought of how effortless it would be to squeeze and squeeze and _squeeze_ until something finally gave and shattered.

It was easy to break Wolf. Easy to tear him apart.

But really, Genichiro was no better.

He was not frail, but he also was not as infallible as he liked to be. Not when Wolf was involved. Wolf was dangerous - frail, _small_ , yet still dangerous - and realistically, he could retaliate. Genichiro didn’t imagine much would happen, especially while under this shaky truce that they were tethered to, but at the very least, he could take solace in the fact that anything that occurred would be because Wolf wanted to.

Because Wolf _let him._ Let himself get wrecked, let himself bleed, let himself be _hurt_. By Genichiro, and no one else.

“Know your place,” Genichiro growled, endlessly grateful that he was capable of keeping his voice steady.

Usually, there would be gold in Wolf’s eyes, shining bright in Genichiro’s large shadow, but it was absent now, reduced to nothing but a smoldering ring that encased his wide pupils. Wolf stood still for a moment. Waiting, watching, gaze predatory in a way that made Genichiro shiver. He could still remember the faint kiss of steel on his skin, the distant scream of Kusabimaru tearing through muscle and bone.

And then, slowly, Wolf’s hands came up to settle on Genichiro’s wrist.

“Or what?”

Wolf was willing, so willing, and it made Genichiro want to rip him apart.

Just as quickly as he had Wolf pinned to the wall, he was lifting him by the hips, settling perfectly between Wolf’s outstretched thighs. They were at eye-level now, with Wolf’s shoulders grinding hard into the wall, but it wasn’t any concern to either of them. Wolf’s lips were frantic against his, cruel and demanding, and he sunk his teeth into the plump flesh of Wolf’s lower lip.

Wolf tensed. He groaned into the kiss, low and filthy, fingers clawing at Genichiro’s kimono. His blood was hot and metallic on Genichiro’s tongue.

The room felt heavy. Genichiro’s head spun, and he ground forwards, the cruel drag of the fabric between them grinding on his cock sending a flare of heat surging from his groin. Wolf’s hips met him with each thrust, and Genichiro pressed harder against him, hands readjusting to rest on the smooth curve of where Wolf’s ass met his thighs.

Wolf broke the kiss with a shaky sigh. His lips were smeared in red, his pupils blown wide, his nails biting where they clung to Genichiro’s biceps. A soft moan left him, and the sound was so small, so vulnerable that it _hurt_. He yearned terribly to drag more of those noises out. Genichiro’s forehead pressed to his, and their breaths mingled, as thick and heady as the heat that pooled between them.

“My lord,” Wolf started. Low, quaking. He opened his mouth again, but then his breath caught, and instead, he straightened and shoved at Genichiro’s chest. “Someone is coming.”

Genichiro halted, and sure enough, he heard the metallic footsteps down the hall, the lazy conversation between the guards that passed. Wolf squirmed until he was finally released, falling softly against the floorboards, his head turned to listen. Reluctantly, Genichiro stepped away.

Wolf readjusted his haori, fixed his scarf, wiped at the blood on his lip. It was as if nothing happened, naught but the wound on his lip to serve as a reminder. He didn’t meet Genichiro’s eye.

How infuriating.

* * *

Genichiro had asked Wolf, with the edges of his patience already beginning to fray, “Will you ever listen?”

Another meeting spent polishing his weapons. Another meeting spent silent in his corner, periodically glancing upwards to regard Genichiro with a curious look as if he was only half-listening. He must have known how aggravating it was. He turned his head away, back towards the entrance, impatient to be dismissed.

Either impatient, or anticipatory, given his baited answer, “If it is worth the effort, yes.”

Only Wolf had the audacity to disrespect him, to treat him as if he meant nothing. As if his title, his position, his legacy meant absolutely _nothing._ Though Genichiro supposed that it truly had no meaning - nothing did anymore, not when he eventually had Wolf was at his feet.

Genichiro didn’t mean to snap, but with how readily Wolf knelt for him, how effortless it was to bind his hands, he supposed that was the goal.

Wolf was lovely when he was on his knees, and even lovelier when he doubled over with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Lovely when he couldn’t breathe, lovely when he couldn’t stop a mouthful of blood from dripping onto the floorboards. Genichiro crouched and reached to nudge Wolf’s head upwards with a finger tucked under his chin, holding him there, inspecting the steady blood flow from his nostrils that dripped down to his chin, his jaw, his neck. 

Wolf leaned in to the touch, and Genichiro couldn’t stop the shaky sigh that left him. An impeccable shinobi, bleeding and ruined, solely because he willed it so. Because he’d nudged and pushed until Genichiro gave him what he wanted. He smelled thickly of copper, the traces of sugar and sakura in his breath as faint and fleeting as it would be in the remains of an incense burner. Genichiro couldn’t resist the urge to press a kiss to Wolf’s lips.

There was salt on Wolf’s lips, candy on his tongue, blood on his teeth. Genichiro’s cock throbbed at the disgustingly heady combination. Wolf was panting when Genichiro pulled away and stood.

“I expected worse from you, Genichiro.”

Wolf was breathy, his voice rough, his thighs spread wide where he knelt. The lack of honorifics made something in Genichiro stir - not displeasure, he eventually decided, but not entirely off the course of offense, either.

“Careful now,” Genichiro murmured. He pressed the pad of his thumb against Wolf’s split lower lip, smearing the blood there. The sharp hiss his touch elicited added to the heat that seared under his hakama. “Talk too much and I’ll have to rip out those fangs of yours.”

Wolf’s tongue passed over his front teeth, wiping away the faint smear of pink that coated them. His voice was caught somewhere between confusion and anticipation when he questioned, “Not my tongue?”

If anything, Genichiro _should_ have torn his tongue out, if only to wipe that infuriatingly amused glint from his eye. He didn’t bother trying to quell the anger that welled and spilled, didn’t bother trying to stop himself from slamming his fist into Wolf’s jaw. The ache in his knuckles was both agonizing and satisfying, the sensation well worth the sight of Wolf writhing on his side against the floorboards.

Wolf’s legs kicked out under him as he was hauled upwards by the hair. They twitched and fell still as Genichiro’s knee rammed into his face. The resounding crack was drowned out by a strangled groan that tore its way from Wolf’s throat. Genichiro let go of Wolf with a sigh, soft and shaky, his cock aching terribly in his hakama.

Wolf slumped forwards onto his knees. He didn’t have the energy to spit out the blood that had pooled in his mouth, instead allowing it to pour past his lips and drip onto the floor. The faint clatter of teeth amongst the gore rang softly in Genichiro’s ears, the sound far lovelier than the gentle patter of raindrops against the tiled rooftops. 

He wanted to hear it until Wolf had none left to lose.

“There’s better uses for your tongue,” Genichiro told him. Weakly, Wolf glanced back upwards. His face was flushed, his breaths soft and tremulous, his own cock hard and straining against his hakama. “Teeth aren’t a necessity.”

The flow from his nose was heavier now, the crimson on his lips brighter than before. Nevertheless, Wolf’s back straightened a bit, his interest seemingly piqued by the statement. Somehow, his eagerness to please, to serve, to _obey_ was a foreign thing. _Uncharacteristic_ when it shouldn’t have been _._ And yet still, Genichiro relished in the weak noise that left Wolf when he fisted his hair once more. 

For a moment, when Wolf nuzzled forwards into his inner thigh and smeared blood into his hakama, Genichiro considered it a victory.

Wolf mouthed at his cock through his hakama, breaths hot and heavy and staining the fabric red. Genichiro’s hold in his hair tightened and pulled Wolf away long enough to tug his cock free. The sight ripped an odd noise out of Wolf’s throat, frail as he’d been wounded, quaking as if he _needed_ it.

Genichiro rubbed the head of his cock along Wolf’s lips, warm and hopelessly slick, the sensation adding to the twinge of pleasure that twisted in his gut. “If I feel teeth,” he warned slowly, “I’ll tear the rest of them right out of that disgusting mouth of yours.”

With how Wolf whimpered low in his chest, hips jerking up into nothing, Genichiro debated doing it anyways. He didn’t imagine it would be all that difficult; he ached to bury himself in the slick heat of Wolf and pin him there, keep him where he’s most compliant, and feel him writhe and clench hard around his cock after each tooth was wrenched from its root.

The head of his cock bumped the weeping holes of where Wolf’s incisors used to be. Wolf jerked, the sound he made positively _feral,_ and the deep, visceral urge Genichiro felt to tear more noises like that from Wolf’s lips was dangerously intoxicating. Wolf’s tongue pressed eagerly against his cock, his mouth impossibly slick, red frothing lightly at the corners of his lips. 

Genichiro had seen Wolf wounded before - staggering on the battlefield, tearing out an arrow that sunk into his shoulder, taking a frantic drink from his healing gourd. There was something so delightful in watching Wolf scramble to regain control, in being torn away from his usually impeccable image with a glint of steel and a spatter of red. He found himself so hopelessly distracted, once almost failing to dodge the swipe of an enemy’s katana on time, but it would have been worth it.

Resurrection, although slow and arduous, was nothing. But watching Wolf squirm, hearing him cry out in agony, following the flow of crimson that seeped into his shitagi was _everything._

Genichiro lost himself to the sensation, bucking forwards, and fascinatingly enough, Wolf eagerly attempted to take more of him. His jaw was straining and smeared red, his eyes prickling with tears, but by the Gods, did he look _divine_. He was beguiling, even as broken as he was, as disgusting as the gore on his skin had become. 

Genichiro craved to tear more from Wolf, take everything that he possibly could and then some, until Wolf was the only thing he could feel, until copper and sakura was the only thing he could taste.

He held Wolf’s head steady and he thrust forwards into the slick sheath of his throat. Wolf’s gag ripped through his core, the sound wretched and revolting enough to make Genichiro’s cock twitch. He could only repeat the action, the jerky, silky flutter of Wolf’s throat around his cock punching an obscene groan right out of him. Saliva spilled from the corners of Wolf’s lips with each slow, deep thrust. Every press into the tight clench of Wolf’s throat was met with a velvety shudder.

A particularly sharp snap forward had Wolf’s nose pressing into his pelvis, sudden enough to wrench out another tremulous gag. A mesmerizing well of heat enveloped Genichiro’s cock, and Wolf trembled terribly, the thick surge of bile dripping down the bulging column of his throat. Genichiro watched as tears trailed down Wolf’s flushed cheeks.

The white-hot pleasure that lapped up his spine was cruel, sudden, and he pulled back until his cock fell free from Wolf’s mouth. It would be a shame for this to end; Genichiro would stay in the moment forever if he could, with Wolf on his knees, hands behind his back, attention focused on him and only him. _Like a proper servant._

Blood and bile alike clung to Wolf’s lips; he was an absolute mess, and yet still, he struggled in Genichiro’s grasp, eager and revolting and absolutely sublime. Genichiro’s cock ached terribly at the sight. Cruelly, he sought more of it; a ragged moan left Genichiro’s lips as he thrust back into the heat of Wolf’s throat, the sensation thick and heady in his gut, his head spinning at the next wretched gag. 

Genichiro preened at the fresh well of tears that stained Wolf’s skin. There was nothing about Wolf that wasn’t lovely; he was exquisite when he was needy and aching, divine when he gagged and cried, impeccable even with the odd mix of blood and vomit that seeped down into his shitagi. 

Soon he was coming down Wolf’s throat, hips twitching against Wolf’s straining jaw and lips, his thoughts muddled and numb as he rode out the high. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, focused only on the slick heat, on the tongue that eagerly worked him. He only withdrew once he became too sensitive to stand the wet flutter on his cock any longer.

Wolf spluttered and heaved out a rattling cough. His plea was weak, hoarse, dragged right out of his raw throat as he struggled to catch his breath, “My lord.”

Genichiro finally let go of Wolf’s hair, allowing it to fall onto his face, and shifted to press the heel of his shoe between Wolf’s thighs. His breath caught in his throat at the full-body shiver against his leg.

“You’re filthy,” Genichiro purred. Wolf jerkily rolled his hips. “How unbecoming of a shinobi.”

Wolf nuzzled forwards against his inner thigh, not quite reaching his hip, a soft sound melting into the fabric alongside the murky smear that lingered on his chin. Genichiro watched with idle fascination as he continued to roll his hips, reaching down to thread his fingers through Wolf’s hair once more. He did not pull, did not yank and tear like he wanted to, instead petting Wolf’s head as he would with a dog in the kennels.

It wasn’t very long before Wolf halted, muffling a strangled groan into Genichiro’s thigh, harsh and shaky as if he’d been gravely wounded. The knife of desire twisted cruelly in Genichiro’s gut, but he would not push Wolf any further than he already had. And with how Wolf dazedly glanced up at him, hazy from his climax and from blood loss alike, he doubted they would get very far, anyways.

No one commented on the stains that had been left on his hakama, nor was the order to replace the floorboards questioned. No one _dared_.

* * *

Wolf smelled faintly of sakura.

Blood that wasn’t his own covered his haori, clinging thickly to his hair, the evidence of that night’s events plastered for anyone to see. It had been a few days since their last meeting, with Genichiro following the mere whisper of Wolf’s footsteps, with Wolf always somehow remaining far out of his reach. 

Needless to say, Genichiro was furious.

The ministry had been eerily quiet. Messengers on the Ashina outskirts remained empty-handed, and his generals grew steadily more antsy by each passing day, and Genichiro knew better than to assume that the lull between conflicts was entirely innocent. He supposed Wolf knew, as well; if he had caught what the Nightjar hadn’t, then they could rest easy that night.

Wolf faltered in his tracks. It was only the two of them in that hallway, the silence between them almost unbearably tense. Some unknowing guards laughed just outside, clearly drunk, but Genichiro didn’t care.

He reached out. His thumb pressed against Wolf’s lip, tugging it downwards, revealing a perfect set of incisors. Something in him reared its ugly head, gnashed its teeth like some feral thing. He clicked his tongue. Amusement shone faintly in Wolf’s eyes, shimmering gold, brighter than the moonlight and the braziers and the silken embroidery of Genichiro’s obi.

“Is there something that bothers you, Lord Genichiro?”

The urge to step forwards and press Wolf to the nearest wall surged under his skin. He recognized the taunt, stretched thin between them like a bowstring itching to release, and for a moment, pressed closer. It was a simple gesture, more curious than it was demanding, but Wolf’s breath halted the same. Caught somewhere in the back of his throat, shuddered between them when Genichiro’s fingers trailed lower towards his neck.

He didn’t reach, didn’t squeeze, didn’t hold Wolf still and wring him until he stopped moving. The thought sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. Out of all the things he could possibly say, there was nothing that could convey the flood of heat that clawed up his abdomen, the vicious urge to bite into the tantalizingly flawless skin of Wolf’s neck and _tear_.

With a painfully baited sigh, he stepped back. Wolf’s eyes followed him, predacious in their sharp, golden glow, bright enough for Genichiro to lose himself in. Somehow, he managed to reply, “No.”

The corner of Wolf’s mouth twitched, hardly there for the slightest moment, the hilarity in it revoltingly blatant. Nevertheless, he dutifully schooled his countenance to remain as impassive as it always had, stalking off into the night without another glance back.

Genichiro loathed how insignificant that made him feel.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hello to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Sorkari_) ✨


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